


Fools Rush In

by pen0fevil



Category: Far Cry 5, Far Cry: New Dawn
Genre: Angst, Bonding, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Healing, Mention of Domestic Violence, More Tags to be added as I go, Pre-Relationship, Prequel, Recovery, Slow Burn, Suicidal Ideation, Survivors Guilt, Torture, Violence, but some fluff too I promise, going to give them the history they deserve, look ubisoft robbed us of backstory, mental breakdowns, pre-new dawn, so I'm going to fucking make a backstory, you can't tell me there wasn't anything between cap and rush
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-06
Updated: 2019-03-07
Packaged: 2019-11-12 20:14:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18017693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pen0fevil/pseuds/pen0fevil
Summary: Rush didn't always have a Captain of Security. Way back when, he was just an idealistic fool trying to put America back together with a penchant for picking up strays. When he found her, they told him he should have put her down like the rabid dog she was... but he didn't. Bits and pieces of their lives, the moments when he changed her for the better and she repaid him with the life she tried to throw away.





	1. War

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't going to be a traditional chapter fic; mostly its just chunks inspired by writing prompts told chronologically. Rush was too good of a character not to have any story :c Have a good day! -- POE

There's always a moment when you can tell, right before it happens, that shit is about to hit the fan. You might not be the one to see it per se, but someone had to be witness to it. Taking a long pull on a cigarette, she had to wonder who saw this nightmare about to happen. Who got to see the beginnings of the end of the world, moments before disaster?

"Boss,"

The woman looked up from the hood of the car, turning her eyes to the scout as he came up behind her. She didn't seem inclined to move, taking another drag before turning back to the empty road. "Yeah?"

"We should get going. They saw a caravan coming up the road on the west end." He was a scrawny punk, all long legs and skinny arms. If it had been up to her, he would have stayed back with the rest of the kids... but that's not how it worked now. He had to go out, same as every one else, and if he didn't do his share he didn't get to eat.

She flicked the cigarette away, sliding down off the hood to get back in the car. "Which way're they going?"

"Coming up east, he said." Scout climbed into the driver side as she got into the passenger's, slamming the door with a curse.

"Fucking going to have the sun in our eyes," she muttered darkly, shaking her head. "How many cars?"

Scout eased the car off the road, carefully guiding it down a dirt path that was just wide enough for the car. It wasn't meant for off-road, this much she knew about cars, but they didn't have a choice. Its not like there were anymore jeeps or off-road vehicles this far off the track. You took what you could get, and you were fucking happy for the gift. 

He was silent while he drove, and she was willing to chalk it up to him concentrating... but the longer he went without talking the more agitated she became.

"I asked you how many cars." The woman repeated, already itching for another cigarette. She glanced at him as his hands flexed on the steering wheel, eyes on the dirt road ahead and carefully avoiding her gaze. "I swear to fuck--"

"Four." He finally blurted out. 

" _Four_?" She all but hissed at him, throwing herself back in the seat. She wanted to say more, to shout that that was _too much_ for them, too many for their small hunting party... but they didn't have a choice. They were at the end of their week, and if they didn't come back in time others would come to look for them.

_It would be worse if we came back empty handed._

The two sat in silence, tension and frustration thickening the air to an almost suffocating degree. When had shit got this bad? She broke, pulling another cigarette from the pack tucked in the pocket of her coat. She knew _exactly_ when: ten years ago when the whole goddamned world went to War and started throwing bombs around like snowballs. The First War was over, but left in its wake were so many others. 

She didn't really care about those, the little things like the war between raider groups. The battles for supremacy, respect. Or worse, _pride_ , where no one was the winner. She only gave a damn about surviving, and seeing after the ones she cared about to make sure they made it another day.

Playing with the lighter, she fought the urge to finally light up the cigarette. She only had three left now; wouldn't do to waste them because she was pissed about something she couldn't control. She flipped it shut again, eying the kid in the seat next to her. God he was young, sixteen maybe. The fuck was he running around out here with the Raiders for?

Her hands unconsciously lit the cigarette, eyes dropping back to the dash as she leaned forward. He shouldn't be out here. None of them should have been; but because some old men couldn't get along ten fucking years ago, they were out scavenging on the road praying for easy picks to rob and take back to the gang. If they were lucky they might even get a piece of it, or at the very least some fucking food.

War was fucking bullshit.

"We're almost there. Reg's got an ambush set up." Scout glanced at her, eyes on the cigarette for a moment before he turned back to the road. Smart kid, knowing better than to ask. 

"The best ambush in the world isn't going to be much help on a four stack," she answered leaning back against the headrest and blowing out a plume of smoke that curled around her face like dragon breath. "Best we can hope for is one of them, maybe two. Scare the rest off." _And pigs will fly across the sky, healing the land of the radiation and everyone will fuck and be happy in a massive hippy orgy._

"Its the best we got." Scout murmured back. "Its the only thing we've seen all week."

She blew more smoke out of her nose, closing her eyes as she shook her head. "I know. Time's up."

"... Time's up." He agreed, pulling the car further off the road and hiding it behind a copse of trees. 

All they could do now was wait.

=====

How did everything go so fucking _sideways_?

All she could smell was smoke, fire, and blood-- was her nose broken? It was hard to tell. Everything _hurt_ , everything was _loud_ , the whole world spinning around as she stumbled behind a tree. She knew, vaguely as the shock set in, that she'd been shot. She hoped to god it was just a graze, but when she pulled her hand away from the wound sweet fucking lord was that _a lot_ of blood. 

The ambush-- it wasn't an ambush. It was a _slaughter_. Even waiting for darkness they didn't have a snowflake's chance in hell. The caravan was armored, prepared for a fight. It had been stupid to try, and she knew it from the start. It had been stupid, but they were more _desperate_ than anything. 

When it all went to shit she ran. She'd thrown down the gun, and shouted for the others in her hunting party to follow. _"The hills! The trees!"_ She remembered screaming, trying to stop the unnecessary killings of the people-- _her_ people. They were fucked without loot from that stupid caravan, but all the stolen shit in the world wouldn't bring back the _dead_.

They scattered, breaking apart like the scared little shits they were. She didn't even know where they went; all she could hope for was that they were fast enough, smart enough, to hunker down until it was safe to move. Forcing herself to her feet, her side screaming, she staggered up. She had to get deeper into the woods, she had to find the car. It was her best chance. Her only chance.

A groan made her freeze, almost stumbling as she tripped over the Scout. How the fuck had she missed him? 

"Get _up_ ," she grunted, kneeling down to lift his arm over her shoulder. "We gotta go. Up."

Fuck, he was heavy. Heavy, and limp. That wasn't a good sign. "Now's not the time, shitter." She said through grit teeth. Her own wound was starting to hurt, that ache that told her she was making things worse. It would be so much easier just to leave him, just drop him. He was a goner, anyway.

With a grunt she managed to get a better hold on him. He was starting to come around, finding his feet as she dragged him along. _Good_.

It was still slow going. Her ears were still ringing, but she could hear gunfire in the distance behind them. Closing the gap. "We have to get out of here," she hissed at him, though she was speaking mostly to herself. She had to keep her mind off the dogs at their heels, and focus on the goal ahead.

The shouts were getting louder, more clear. Their would-be victims were gaining on them, ATVs revving through the brush. She didn't have a lot of time. They weren't going to make it--

"Boss!" 

The ATV roared behind her, and she almost dropped Scout to draw her sidearm. Anything to delay the inevitable, to keep them there on this earth even ten seconds longer. When she turned, already trying to gently drop the boy, she recognized that stupid four-wheeler and the boy driving it: Reggie. Her other scout, and the mastermind behind this catastrophic fuck-up.

"Boss! Get on!" He pulled up beside her, panicked and bloody, but he looked like he was in one piece. Lucky fuck.

"No," the word seemed to surprise him as much as it surprised her. She was already dragging Scout back up, all but shoving him on to the seat behind Reggie. "Take him, fuck off-- I'll catch up after."

" _It has to be you_ ," Reggie had to shout, trying and failing to push Scout off when she pulled her sidearm. "He's fuckin' _dead_ , just get on and let's go!"

"Its either going to be him or they're going to shoot all of us Reggie. And I swear to fucking God I will put a bullet in the two of you if you don't get your shit together and _drive_!"

He stared at her for a moment, totally bewildered before shaking his head. "Fuck this," he mouthed; she'd seen him talk under his breath enough to know what he was muttering when he didn't think anyone else could hear him. The ATV rev'd again, wheels spinning in the leaf-litter before it jumped forward. Scout had his arm wrapped around Reggie, blinking back at her as they drove uphill and out of sight.

She stood watching them for a moment, her peashooter handgun naked at her side. She was tired, so tired, the wound in her side seeping as she turned. There were lights in the woods now, flashlights searching for survivors... and she was one of them. 

With a grunt, she lowered herself to the ground. Her free hand went back to the wound in her side, the pain a low burning as she drew her hand back. Yep. Still wounded. Still bleeding. The injury-fairy hadn't seen fit to come and bless her with miraculously healed wounds. 

What she wouldn't fucking do for a cigarette right now.

The lights closed in as she leaned back, lowering herself so she was laying back in the leaves. It would be nice, to have a nap. She didn't need to be here for this; it would all end soon, if she was lucky.

"Found one!"

She didn't even flinch at the shout, eyes still shut as she rested. She could hear shuffling in the leaves; they were getting closer without checking if she was conscious, or even alive. Stupid, stupid. And these were the bastards that were finally going to put her out of her misery?

"One of them." Closer, closer. She cracked her eyes, staring up at a man as he loomed over her. The clean up crew, most likely. She remembered her old history from school, before the bombs. They called them throat-cutters, didn't they? Finishing off the enemy as they lay dying.

He crouched down, mouth set in a grim line as he gave her a once over. "That was stupid, what you all thought you were going to do." He murmured quietly. She could see a shadow over his shoulder. Another man with a gun trained on her, like she was going to leap out of the brush. 

There would be no leaping with this gash in her side, the blood she lost painting the leaves like some kind of shitty watercolor nightmare, or the fight that had all but seeped out of her. She was ready to go; all she needed was a bullet. If he was waiting for an answer, he was going to be sitting there for the rest of her life: she simply put her head back and shut her eyes.

The sigh she heard sounded disappointed, the leaves rustling as he leaned back on his heels. He was poking around her stomach now, lifting up the shirt as much as he could when she felt his fingers checking the wound. The fuck was he up to? Why wouldn't he just let her be?

"There's treads going up the mountain." The words had her cold, her slowing heart suddenly hammering again as her eyes flew open. No! No, _no, **no**_! "The one on the quad must have passed this way--"

He'd turned to talk to the men behind him, and before she realized what she was doing, her hand scrambled for the handgun she still had, fumbling it up to try and get a shot before he caught her hand. She was snarling in his face, trying to swing it around enough for a clean shot before he shook it out of her grip. 

She couldn't let them go, not after Reggie. Not after the Scout. They were fuck ups, but they were kids! Her people! Her's to guide and lead and protect!

"Stop fighting!" He was shouting in her face, but she didn't care. They should have put a fucking bullet in her when they had the chance. "Drop it!"

"They're beat!" She was screaming, twisting as he pinned her arms back down. She should have been better, she should have been able to fight him off, but her muscles were tired. Her body was sore, and drained. She wouldn't stop, she couldn't-- "They're not any danger to you or yours! You fuckin' proved that a hundred fold! I stayed-- I stayed to keep you from hunting them down like _dogs_!"

She kept screaming, roaring in his face because that's all she could do when he leaned back. She didn't have a chance to see the butt of the rifle come down. All that she saw, in a flickering moment before the world went dark, and quiet, and calm, was an inky void that swallowed her down in an instant. 

The roaring stopped, the hurting stopped. All that was left was an unconscious woman laying still in the undergrowth. He checked her pulse, to be safe. It was slow, weakening from the blood loss. They didn't have a lot of time.

"What should we do with her?" The gunner at his back offered his arm, pulling him up while his eyes stayed glued to the fresh tire tracks going up the mountain. "You want to send some of the guys after them?"

He shook his head, rubbing his throat before looking down at the woman again. She probably wouldn't make the trip back to the fort; shot to hell, bleeding like she was. She'd almost seemed like she was ready to go, just then. Quiet, and compliant. Until he'd turned his eyes on the ones that got away, then holy shit did the bear decide to wake up.

It had possibilities.

"They're gone." He finally said, looking down at the woman one more time. "But we'll take this one back with us."

"Whatever you say, Rush."


	2. Crow

Good lord it was noisy outside.

She wanted to curl up and hide, to tell them to knock that loud shit off. Everything hurt, like she'd been run- and then backed over again by a truck. Piled on to the shit was a migraine crushing her skull, and she was in a less than charitable mood. When she got her hands on them-

Her hands. They were _bound_.

Forcing her eyes open, she tried to pull at her arms again. She was cuffed to the bed rails and for a split second she felt a wave of panic. Where the fuck-- where was she?

Struggling wasn't helping; the cuffs were tight, wrists sore and aching. She settled back on her side, willing her heart to slow as she tried to remember how she got here. 

She shut her eyes, taking a shaky breath as she recalled fever dreams that had felt real. Birds picking at her, at the open wound at her side. She'd tried to swat them away, to let her die in peace, but something had knocked her hands away to let the feathered demons do their bloody work.

There was an uncomfortable tugging in her side as she shifted, stitches pulling as she moved the wrong way. Stitches? 

The headache was starting to pound in her temples. Light seared in from a window, and all she could do was shut her eyes and will it to pass. The sounds outside sounded almost like construction: the pounding of hammers and saws only amplifying the waves of pain.

God damn it why didn't she just stay asleep if she was going to hurt this bad?

Laying there felt like an eternity when a door finally opened somewhere in the room. She flinched at the unexpected noise, trying to curl away from it and hissing as she pulled again at the stitches. Every little action hurt, and it had long since become annoying. 

"You're finally awake." The voice said; she heard a few more footsteps as she came closer, the shadow cast over her face telling her the woman was probably at her bedside. "Gave us a scare. I remember the good ol' days of IVs, didn't have to worry about patients dehydrating in recovery."

It sounded like there was some splashing, and when she cracked open an eye she could see the woman a few feet away pouring water into a pitcher. She looked older, when she turned around. Her hair was a thick, gray bob, and behind a pair of cracked glasses were some deep set green eyes. The white lab coat looked like a relic, worn out and stained from years of use.

For a second she just stared, half wondering if this was some kind of game or hallucination as the woman came closer. She had a glass in her hand, a straw poking up over the rim before she lowered it down to her level. This had to be a trick. Some kind of cosmic joke. 

"Honey, if we wanted to kill you there's a ditch out back. Lot less effort than sewing you up just to poison the water." She gently shook the glass as if to emphasize her point, moving it a touch closer. "Go on. You've been out for days; that headache of yours isn't going to go away til you get some fluids back in."

She clenched her jaw, mulling it over for a few seconds longer before she finally gave in. It wasn't until she started choking that she realized how thirsty she'd been, trying to drink faster than was feasible. 

While she was busy coughing, the woman had gently pulled up the edge of her shirt to check the stitches. "Slow down. You keep hacking it all back up, you're going to rip some of these open." She felt rather than saw her fingers tracing along the edge, the skin still a bit feverish compared to her touch. "... Better than yesterday at least. Looking better."

"What're you doing?" She tried to pull away, but handcuffed to the bed it was hard to move away from the probing. Twisting was out of the question: the moment she tried she regretted it and finally settled back into a rigid board. 

"Making sure you don't go septic." She pulled the edge of the shirt back down, stepping away from the bed and back to the small table just this side out of reach. "I'm Doc Morgan, by the way."

"Where the fuck am I?" It came out every bit as hostile as she wanted it to, the water recharging some of her dead batteries enough to breath some life and fight back in to her. Anger was easy, it burned better than the cold of fear felt. 

Anger kept you alive, kept you brave, and right now she was getting _pissed_.

"This is the part where you say your name." Morgan didn't even turn, wiping down her hands with a splash of water and something else from a smaller bottle on the table. "I might be country but your manners could use some work."

Whatever scathing remark she had, she bit back and simply glared at the woman. This wasn't right; didn't look right, smell right. It sure the fuck didn't feel right, and the longer she was laid up and chained to the bed, the more frustrated she became.

The doctor turned back to face her, shrugging. If she was worried about the look she was giving her, she didn't seem to care. "Jane it is then. Nice to meet you, Jane."

"Uncuff me."

"You're going to have to take that up with Thomas." She put her hands in her coat pockets, shaking her head. "Though I wouldn't be inclined to do that just yet."

Jane clenched her jaw, glaring daggers up at Morgan as she loomed over her. She hated this feeling, this trapped fear as she pulled again at the cuffs. She wanted to shout, to scream and claw her way out... but that wasn't possible. Even now she could feel herself fading. The burst of adrenaline and excitement fading as her body reminded her just how beat up she was. There wasn't going to be any fighting out of this; no dragging herself up.

Especially when she was leashed to the bed like some kind of fucking dog.

"Nothing to say?" Morgan continued, cocking an eyebrow. "You look the type to speak her mind."

"Fuck you."

The doctor shook her head, sighing as she went back to the door. "Maybe some alone time will cool your head. Try to mellow down in the mean time; don't want to aggravate your injuries worse now that they're just starting to heal up."

Just like that she was alone again; the room silent, the banging and shouting outside quieting down as the heat of the day rose up. The room, surprisingly, stayed cooler. She wondered why she was there, and not some shipping container the Raiders liked to use for their make-shift cells. Compared to that, this was a presidential suite. 

\----

The day wore on, and she drifted in and out of consciousness. The few moments she did dream, she was buried in the sand with a murder of crows circling overhead waiting to dive--

The dream broke when she heard a chair scraping the wooden floor, pulled up next to her face so the man could sit near eye-level with her. He was the one from the woods, the throat-cutter she'd tried and failed to shoot. Even if she was fuzzy on the details of his face, she remembered the tattoo at his throat. In the dimness she'd taken it for a crow-- but seeing it up close and personal it looked more like an eagle.

Jane felt a wave of fear gripping her gut, dreading what he was going to say. Was he here to gloat, to remind her of the massacre she'd successfully driven from her mind until he appeared to rub her nose in it all over again?

"You and I," he began with a sigh, setting himself down a bit heavily in the chair like he was tired, "need to have a talk."

"I already told your pet blood-letter to fuck off." Jane growled back, trying to push herself further on the bed and away from him where he sat at her bedside. 

"Yeah... yeah, she said you did." He chuckled then, and she felt her eyes widen a bit. That's not what she was expecting... a backhand, maybe. A threat. Something... not laughing. 

She watched him, her hostility drying up and turning instead to suspicion. This powerless feeling was getting stale, fast, and the cuffs were a constant reminder that right now she didn't have half an inch to stand on. She had no choices here, no leverage. Watching him sit there, staring at her just reminded her of that.

So she kept the one bit of power she had: her voice, laying their silently as he looked her over. 

He didn't seem concerned by the quiet or the open hostility in her eyes. Instead, he raised up a hand motioning to the healing gunshot wound hidden under her shirt. "May I?"

The question caught her off guard, and Jane narrowed her eyes. "I can't stop you."

"You can say no," he answered just as quickly, nodding to her. "You might be chained up, but you still have that choice."

She went quiet again, closing her eyes. It was the best she could do, considering she couldn't escape from him. She couldn't even turn her head; the best she could do was feign sleep. "Fine. Do whatever you want."

Her shirt slid up again just enough to expose the stitches, though he didn't touch them like the doctor had. After a moment, he pushed it back down again, and the creaking of the chair told her he'd leaned back. Things went quiet again, maddeningly, and she wasn't sure if he was still there or just playing games.

"I had a dog, before the bombs."

_Who fucking cares?_

"He was a working dog. Always had to be busy." 

She sighed, hoping he'd stop with the story-time. Hoping he would just leave her alone, like Morgan had. He'd come and had his fun: now she just wanted to be in the silence of an empty room.

"I thought maybe, he'd live forever. Kid dreams."

"I don't care about your fucking dog."

"You should. You had the same eyes."

Jane coughed up a barking laugh, a harsh snort as she shook her head and opened her eyes just so he could see her roll them. "I fuckin' bet. Do you have a point or is this some kind of psycho-torture. You going to take me out back to Morgan's ditch and shoot me like ol' Yeller?"

The man shook his head, and waited for the vitriol to run itself out of her system. She sighed again, shaking her head and going quiet to let him finish. "Joke all you want. I saw death in your eyes. You gave up. You were _ready_ for it, all but pulling the trigger yourself."

"The fuck's it to you?" The anger surged back to the surface like a wave, and she found herself yanking on the handcuffs hard enough that the metal bit into her wrists. "Why didn't you just put a fucking bullet in my brain and finish it, if that's what you think I wanted?"

He was quiet for a minute, letting her seethe and strain on her bonds until she finally relaxed again. If looks could kill, the whole room would be ablaze. "Because there was something else under all that defeat."

"Like what? My fuckin' hopes and _dreams_?" She spat in his face, because that's all she could do, but beneath that bravado was fear. The fuck was all this, this psychobabble? Poking and prodding?

Before he could say more, there was a knock at the door. He turned, and she actually felt relief. Anything to keep his attention, his scrutiny, off her. She almost wished he was interrogating her, _that_ was something she could handle. Something she could brace for, fight against.

Not... this. Whatever it was.

"Rush. A word?" 

He turned back to her, and she looked away. She'd had enough. She needed a break. He didn't say a word, and when he pulled the chair back she found herself watching his back. Wary, like he might turn back around with a shout, _Ah hah! It was all a **trick**!_

"We'll keep talking later. Rest up."


End file.
